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Orpheus
Chapter 6
Despite Severus’s derogatory comments on Yuri Avanessian’s skills as a
potions maker, Hermione left the Hospital Wing twenty-four hours after
having ingested his Pepper-Up potion. She hadn't expected anything
else—complications, side-effects, symptoms of poisoning—because, after four
months at Hogwarts and with Severus, she knew that Yuri was perfectly
capable of brewing more complicated concoctions than just a flu remedy. He
might not play in Severus's league, but then who did? Very few potions
makers ever arrived as far as achieving the title of ‘Master’, and even
among these few (a handful of them, scattered all over the globe) Severus
was one of the best, if not The Best. But he had hired Avanessian himself,
after a series of interviews which, Yuri had told her, would have made the
most rabid of Spanish Inquisitors go green with envy. No, Severus didn’t
really doubt the resident Potions teacher’s skills. If anything, he was a
little jealous—Hermione had gathered as much from various cutting remarks
she now knew how to interpret—because the man was easygoing, well liked by
students and staff, and all the same his students still scored remarkably
high in their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. This jealousy was something Hermione
found more endearing than annoying. After all, it proved that Severus
wanted, and probably had always wanted, to be liked. It was the kind of
jealousy she imagined a beaten, ugly and scarred mongrel would feel for a
well-kept, upper-class lapdog, knowing that it was essentially as loveable
as its pedigreed peer but repulsed people by its appearance.
Not that Severus was ugly anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination.
She certainly wasn't the only woman on the planet, let alone at Hogwarts, to
find him extremely attractive. True, he was still pale, and his teeth were
still slightly crooked. But the coldness of his eyes, the sallow tone of his
skin and the exaggerated size and crookedness of his nose had owed their
existence to a Forma Deformis glamour he had been only too happy to take off
forever, some time after Voldemort's defeat. As he was now, with his short
hair that began to show a little grey at the temples, he reminded her a lot
of the Italian Muggle actor Vittorio de Sica. Sometimes she wished she had a
female friend her age, a woman with whom she might get a bit girly from time
to time, talking and giggling about boyfriends and their assets. But it was
impossible to tell Minerva just how much his body turned her on, or to
reveal to Madam Hooch to which heights of kinkiness he drove her (totally
unbeknownst to him, but that was what added the ultimate kick to his appeal)
by strolling out of the bathroom after taking a shower, dressed in a
bathrobe, his hair still wet and slicked back. Or to tell Poppy Pomfrey how
much she liked it when they made love with him on top, that feeling of being
cocooned in lust and love and safety, merely because she could feel his
weight on her and his arms wrapped around her. Those were secrets she'd have
liked to share.
There was another secret, too, or rather a thought, an idea forming in her
mind. Something to be shared with Severus, and only him. It was merely the
memory of how he had reacted the first time they'd discussed the topic that
made her hesitate. On the other hand, they were going to be married in five
months’ time, and if their relationship wasn't stable enough to resist this
argument—if there really was going to be an argument, but that was what she
feared—it certainly wasn't worth continuing. Words of wisdom, yes, but what
use were words against the wave of anxiety that chilled her at the thought
of Severus getting angry, Severus refusing to listen, Severus rejecting…
her? Not only her ideas, but her as a person? Surely there had to be things
one simply couldn't tolerate in one’s partner, much as one loved them.
Fundamental differences that couldn’t be solved and were serious enough to
jeopardize, if not destroy, a relationship.
This anxiety was one of the reasons why she hadn't talked to him immediately
after being released from Madam Pomfrey’s care. The other reason was a more
practical one: if she worked up enough courage to broach the subject, she
wanted them to have time to discuss it, whichever turn their conversation
was going to take. Either it became a fight—well, then they’d need enough
time to sort things out. Or he was interested. In that case, she wanted to
thoroughly examine the next steps together with him.
The Saturday after she had succumbed to the flu was Quidditch-free,
staff-meeting-free and obligation-free. Hermione still felt a little weak in
the knees, and so they had decided to spend a tranquil weekend at Hogwarts.
The ideal occasion to bring up her project. For it had become a project, a
veritable research project, during the days she had turned it round and
round in her head. The possibilities… Not to mention the thrill she felt at
the mere thought of getting back to doing some scientific work. Her fingers
were itching when she imagined the books she’d have to consult, the
experiments to be prepared and carried out, failures, successes… And being
able to share the experience with Severus was the icing on the cake. If he
didn’t object. If he didn’t get so angry at her mentioning it that she’d
prefer to bury it, once and for all, for the sake of their relationship.
Hermione didn’t sleep too well that night and woke up on Saturday feeling
queasy and tired.
They had breakfast in the Great Hall and then returned to their quarters,
where Pluto and Hades, whom Severus stubbornly referred to as ‘the bane of
my existence’, were already waiting for them right in the middle of the
living room, dismembering the book Severus had been reckless enough to leave
on his favourite chair. They were looking quite smug and proud of
themselves.
“Just… just take them… somewhere,” Severus said, covering his eyes with one
hand, “Just take them out of my sight, because, if they're still there when
I open my eyes, I swear we’re going to have barbecued kitten for lunch.”
When Hermione returned from the upper floor where she had temporarily
evacuated the two kittens, the book was whole again, and Severus was
standing at the window, his back to her, apparently scrutinizing the grounds
for the first signs of spring.
“Would you like to go for a walk? It's quite pleasant outside, almost
spring.”
“Y-yes. Why not?” Hermione tried to make her voice sound as natural as
possible. So this was the big moment. It had finally arrived. She swallowed.
“I’m just going upstairs to get my cloak.”
Severus turned round and watched her intently. “Anything the matter,
Spikes?”
“No. That is, I mean, yes, but…” Why was she feeling so anxious, for
heaven’s sake? He loved her, she loved him, nothing was unsolvable. No
conflict too difficult, no problem too serious. They were together, and
nothing was going to change that. “There’s something I’d like to discuss
with you. During our walk.”
“The guest list again?”
His tone of sheer exasperation made her laugh. “No, not the guest list. We
can have a look at that tonight. Or tomorrow night. It’s the weekend,
remember? We have time…”
“I wish,” he said, approaching her in a few quick strides and embracing her,
“that we could put what little time we have to better use.” A hand crept
suggestively to her left breast and rubbed circles, making her sigh in
response. “I know that every wedding needs its guest list, if only to
provide the couple with a suitable reason for a divorce. Only I don’t want
to divorce you, so—”
“Tomorrow night,” she said firmly, though her voice was quivering with
laughter. “We’re going to write that damned list tomorrow night. And now
I’ll fetch my cloak.”
Severus watched her climb the stairs, that slight swaying movement of her
hips, her hair—untamed today—swinging in the same rhythm. If she didn’t want
to discuss the guest list, what did she want to talk about? Not bridal wear,
he hoped. To him, she was beautiful no matter what she was wearing, but this
kind of observation didn’t seem to make her as happy as he had thought.
Quite the contrary, actually. When he had assured her that she could show up
at their wedding swathed in one of Trelawney’s uglier shawls for all he
cared, because he loved her and thought her beautiful just as she was, she
had even glared at him and stated that he was just another useless male.
Children, maybe? That would be a very appropriate subject for them to
discuss before they got married. Not only appropriate, though. Touchy as
well. And he really wasn’t sure what to tell her. Things had changed, after
all. Not that he had been less serious about their relationship four months
ago, and he was absolutely sure that she had taken it as seriously as he.
But they hadn’t yet been able to see the situation as clearly as they did
now. Marriage had been far away—considered, maybe, but never explicitly
mentioned. And the topic of children… Firstly, it wasn’t something Hermione
liked to discuss, as it brought back too many memories of too many nasty
fights with Potter, who had never hesitated to blame her for her
unwillingness to have children. Secondly, they had talked about it—well,
rather mentioned it, Severus corrected himself—on their first morning
together. Stating merely that neither of them wanted children ‘now’. So far,
so good. But when exactly did ‘now’ end and become ‘then’? Was there ever
going to be a ‘then’ as far as children were concerned? More importantly,
would there be a ‘then’ for himself? Was he even able to imagine being a
father? If his reaction to the kittens was any indication, the answer was
probably yes. At least as far as patience was concerned, and the ability to
resist the urge to hex them because of their antics. And he wasn’t that bad
at dealing with his students, even the younger ones. He certainly wasn’t
popular, not in the way Sirius was or Dumbledore had been, but they seemed
to realize he cared for them and appreciate it. Was that enough? He really
didn’t know, and it made him angry at himself—fifty-six, and he didn’t know
whether he wanted children or not…
The noise of the bedroom door falling shut brought Severus back to the here
and now. He heard her walk down the short corridor and towards the stairs,
and suddenly felt panic rise within him. What if she did want children, and
he couldn’t answer her question with an unconditional ‘yes’? Might that be a
reason for her to reconsider her decision? No children, no wedding? There
had to be issues serious and powerful enough to destroy a relationship. What
if—
She was descending the stairs, already dressed in her cloak—not the heavy,
fur-lined one, but a lighter garment, light grey with silver clasps. And she
was smiling at him, holding out her hand.
“Hermione…” His voice sounded strangled, and he didn’t take her outstretched
hand, just looked at it, unsure what to say or which movement to make.
“Are you all right? You’re looking pale. Maybe we should stay—”
“Promise me,” he said, his eyes still on her hand which hovered between
them, ready to be grasped and held forever, “Promise me that, whatever
happens, whatever the problem or misunderstanding, that you won’t consider
leaving me unless there truly is no other way.”
“Severus…” The hand rose, but he stepped back before it touched his cheek.
“Promise.” Impossible to meet her eyes, first he wanted to hear her speak
the words. She didn’t, though. She chuckled. Severus had to close his eyes
as he slowly raised his head. How could she? How dare she laugh… He felt his
fists clench and his jaw go rigid, trying to take the blow, remain calm,
remain standing. He hadn’t experienced this emotion since the morning she
had come barging into his office, confronting him about the position he had
offered her. And he certainly hadn’t expected to experience it again, that
humiliation of being scorned and misunderstood. It catapulted him back in
time and into a former self he didn’t want to be anymore but didn’t have the
strength to resist.
Then, he felt her arms sneak around his waist. Her head came to rest on his
chest, so that he could sense his heartbeat drumming against its weight.
“Funny you should say that.” Now she was standing flush against him,
softness moulding itself to hard leanness. “Because…” One hand left his back
to search for his, found it and pulled the balled fist up to her lips. A
gentle kiss on each knuckle. A velvety cheek insinuating itself between his
fingertips and palm, rubbing, kitten-like, until his fingers relaxed and
cupped her face. “Because that was exactly what I was thinking.” Her lips on
his palm now, moving like the muzzle of a grazing horse, the tip of her
tongue briefly brushing the sensitive expanse of skin between his thumb and
forefinger. “Sometimes—” she nibbled at the spot “—I’m just afraid that some
conflict might be serious enough to drive us apart. But we won’t let that
happen, right?”
With a sigh—but he would have wanted to sob and laugh at the same time—he
closed his arms around her, wishing that it were possible for their bodies
to merge, so he could make her feel the intensity of his emotions
first-hand, no barriers, no words, no gestures needed. “No, we won’t let
that happen, my love.”
The walk was forgotten, and so was everything else. Guest list, children,
research project lay scattered like discarded children’s toys.
“I’ve always liked Saturday mornings,” Hermione said, fumbling—lazily and
rather unconvincedly—for her underwear. “And today—oh, bugger!”
Severus’s eyes fluttered open, and he slowly turned his head to look at her.
“Such language, Spikes… What’s the matter? Did the kittens steal your
knickers?”
“No, no. I put a confinement charm on the landing—they can’t get downstairs.
No, it’s just…” She shook her head and gestured at a spot between her legs.
“Ye-es?” He moved closer, pretending to be examining the carpet.
“I wish there was a charm—no, Severus, don’t!”
“You wish there was…” he echoed, as innocently as possible, his hands
already on her thighs.
“A charm to… Oh, stop it, Severus!” His mouth descended, and she reclined on
the carpet. Again.
“A charm to?” He loved her taste, and he loved how her breath hitched and he
loved the suddenly-sultry tone of her voice.
“To keep the stuff from running out…”
He raised his head briefly and grinned up at her. “Ten points for finishing
your sentence under duress, Spikes.”
Twitchy brought them sandwiches and a bottle of white wine, and they had an
improvised lunch on the—again impeccably clean—carpet. Pluto and Hades, who
had been forgiven and allowed to leave their exile, were sitting in front of
Severus, evidently trying to hypnotize him.
“You should have chosen avocado and cheese,” Hermione remarked, giggling.
“See?” She brandished her sandwich. “I can eat in peace. It’s the ham and
chicken they’re after.”
“Thanks for mentioning it.” Severus glumly fished a slice of chicken breast
out of his sandwich and fed it to the kittens. “Do you think we’ll go for a
walk after lunch?”
“I’d really like to,” she said, lifting her head to sniff the tepid air that
was flooding the room through the open windows. “Listen, Severus, that
matter I meant to discuss with you… Could we talk now?”
“Of course. I was already wondering… is it about children?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. So did her sandwich. It turned out that the kittens
did like avocado, after all. “Children? No, why—but you’re right, we should
talk about children, too. Can I have more wine?” While holding out her glass
for Severus to fill, she looked at him pensively. “So… maybe we should use
this weekend to sort out a few important things? Like, my project today,
children tomorrow morning, guest list tomorrow night?”
“You forgot nuclear disarmament, the hole in the ozone layer and a cure for
the common cold. But I think we might squeeze those in between children and
lunch. Really—” the corners of Severus’s mouth were twitching with
suppressed laughter “—there’s nothing like a well-thought-out schedule.”
“Do you know,” Hermione said, her tone calm and completely serious, “that
sometimes you’re still an insufferable bastard?”
“Of course. That’s what makes me so lovable. Go on, Spikes, tell me about…
your project, was it?”
“My project. Right.” Her hands were playing with her wine glass, nails
tracing patterns into the layer of condensed humidity that was gradually
coalescing into droplets. “But you must promise to hear me out before you
say anything.” Severus nodded, pouring himself more wine before he settled
in a more comfortable position, leaning with his back against the side of
one of the armchairs, legs stretched out. “All right. It all came back to me
when I was down with the flu.”
“So it is a cure for the common cold?”
“Didn’t I say clearly ‘hear me out before you comment’? Okay.” She moved
into a position similar to his. Their toes touched, and she wiggled hers,
tickling the soles of his feet. With a small grunt, Severus pulled up his
legs. “So. I had this strange dream, which I won't bore you with. Suffice it
to say that it was—among other things—about Asklepios and the Draught of
Life. In one word, I want to recreate it.”
“Recreate what?”
“The Draught of Life. You told me it was one of the great mysteries, and
certainly more than a legend. So I want to find out whether there’s a chance
of recreating it.”
She had braced herself against every kind of reaction—anger, incredulous
incomprehension, contempt even—but she certainly hadn’t expected him to nod
and say, “I’ve been wondering when exactly you were going to bring it up
again.”
Speak of anticlimactic. “You have?”
He smiled. “Of course.” Pluto, his belly definitely rounder than it had been
an hour ago, climbed on his lap and made himself comfortable. “My darling,
you may have changed a lot, but not for a moment did I believe that your
inquisitiveness was gone forever. You’re back at your old school, for one.
You’re leading the life of a teacher, your intellect—forgive the trite
simile—is stretching its limbs and reawakening. So it was merely a matter of
time until you decided you wanted to do more than teach Muggle Studies.”
“You…” There was a lot of things Hermione would have wanted to say, but
somehow they refused to let themselves be forced into the straitjacket of
words. So she merely sat there, complete thrown off-balance, feeling the
love bubbling up within her and watching the man who understood her so well
and who was currently petting Pluto, trying to look nonchalant and
uninterested. Suddenly, she burst into laughter.
Frowning, Severus looked at her. “Spikes? Everything all right?”
“Yes…” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the irrepressible
giggles. “It’s just—” she pointed at his right arm “—from where I’m sitting,
I can’t see Pluto, and it looks as if you were… you know… stroking
yourself.”
He rolled his eyes. “If the idea turns you on…”
“Not half as much as other things.” She winked at him, and he smiled back.
“Severus… I have to admit I’m a bit, well, puzzled, to say the truth. I
mean, the first time we talked about the Draught of Life, you…” She sighed.
“Well, you didn't react too well. How come you seem to have changed your
mind so completely?”
Severus shook his head and drained the last of his wine. “I haven't changed
my mind at all, Spikes. You have.”
“Oh, really?” She tried to make it sound sarcastic but failed—she was simply
too taken aback by his answer.
“Of course. Now your interest is merely scientific, as far as I can tell.
Six months ago, you sounded like Godefroy de Bouillon gathering troops for
the first crusade. Now you’re speaking like a scientist. And that makes all
the difference.”
Hermione considered this for a while. “You’re probably right, you know? I
really don't want to start this research so I’ll be able to resurrect the
dead. I just want to know how much of the legend is true, and if the draught
can be created. Do you think… do you think you might help me?”
“Help you?” He regarded her with raised eyebrows. “I don't think you need
help.”
“Not with the research. But, supposing I really find any written sources and
manage to put together something like a formula, I might need your help when
it comes to the actual brewing process.”
“I still doubt that you’ll need my help—don’t look at me like that, Spikes.
You know that you’re brilliant at Potions, don't you?”
“I used to be brilliant at Potions. N.E.W.T. level, nothing more. But I’m
not so sure about my skills where experimental potions-brewing is concerned.
Besides…” She shot him a look from under lowered eyelashes.
“Hmm?” He tilted his head so he could see her face that was partly obscured
by her hair. “Besides—what?”
“I would like to share this with you. I mean, yes, we’re working for the
same school, but other than that, it's not as if we shared a great deal,
work-wise. Not that I’m complaining, Minerva’s your deputy after all. But
I’d like to—you didn't even tell me about your stay at the Malfoys’,” she
blurted out, “Nothing beyond the quality of the food and a few bits and
pieces, unimportant stuff, really. But nothing really important.”
“I think,” Severus said, rather rudely shoving Pluto off his lap and getting
to his feet, “It's definitely time for our walk.”
They walked in silence and rather swiftly, until they reached the edge of
the Forbidden Forest and were well past Hagrid's hut. Now that there was
little chance—or danger, depending on one’s point of view—of encountering
stray students, they slowed down their pace to a leisurely stroll.
“First and foremost,” Severus said, meeting Hermione's expectant look with a
smile, “I have to apologize. No, really—” he held up his hand to silence her
protest “—I want to apologize. It's not just a formality. I should have
brought up the subject sooner, and I want to thank you for not having forced
it.” He stopped and took both her hands into his. “Thank you, Spikes. For
letting me take my time.”
“Severus—” Her answer was cut off by a kiss which, though it was entirely
undeserved, she didn't really want to interrupt. Innate Gryffindor honesty,
however, compelled her to admit, “The idea that you might actually have a
reason for not talking about the Malfoys never even crossed my mind. I
merely thought that… well, that you didn't bring up the subject because
you’d already discussed it with Sirius and Minerva. I’m afraid I sometimes
don't understand you very well,” she added, feeling mortified and very
silly.
“Not at all, my darling. Not at all. In a way, you're even right. The past
is the past, and this part of it is so very distant… It probably shouldn't
trouble me that much.”
“Then again,” Hermione said reasonably, “you haven't exactly talked much
about it with anybody. It’s only understandable that it pops up at the most
inopportune moments. Does Draco still look so very much like his father?”
“That, too. And there's a portrait of Lucius in their library—just plain
creepy. Although he’s dead, he somehow seems to be omnipresent in the
house—he's not even buried there, on the island, but somewhere on the
grounds of their Wiltshire mansion. But they seem to—” he broke off a dry
branch and began to play with it “—to have brought him to Ouessant with
them. Consciously. Deliberately, they don't want to forget. On the contrary,
it's as if they wanted to keep the memory as alive and as close as possible.
Not easy to escape that kind of atmosphere.” He threw the branch into the
winter-brown grass. “I was an easy prey, I suppose.”
“A prey for your own past…”
“Exactly. It’s still there, always lurking, waiting for a moment of
weakness.”
“Like when we met at the Manor for the first time.”
“That was one of the worse moments, yes. Fortunately, it wasn't that bad at
Ouessant. Sirius’s presence helped too, I suppose. He’s the un-creepiest
person I know.”
“I agree. And Lucius? How does he fit into all this? Or was it Draco?”
“No, no. It’s Lucius. He was the one who introduced me to Voldemort. I’m not
saying it was his fault that I became a Death Eater. But… he opened the door
for me. He was my mentor during the first months. And…” He cleared his
throat. This wasn't easy. As a matter of fact it was harder than he had
thought. True, Hermione had seen the Pensieve, but he hadn’t been present
when she visited his memories. To tell her about his weakness was quite
different. He was momentarily tempted to simply give her the thick roll of
parchment currently hidden in a secret compartment of his office desk, the
parchment that contained the story of his life he’d written down months ago,
when he was so afraid of falling in love with her, although it had already
happened, had happened the moment he saw her standing on that staircase…
“Severus?” She smiled up at him, sneaking her arm through his. “We don't
have to talk about it now. There's more than enough time. The first step has
been made, the next will follow when—”
“No. I want to tell you now. Maybe not everything, but I want to start, at
least that. You remember the painting at the Manor? The one of my parents,
in the entrance hall?”
He told her everything. Everything he’d written down, and more. It was
already dark when they returned to the castle, silent and pensive, both
feeling that the bond between them had again grown stronger.
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